It should have come as a relief; that all this could finally be dead and gone and buried.
But life was never kind to Quinn Fabray.
So as Quinn lay on the hospital bed with half a body, it didn't hurt more, seeing the ring on Rachel's finger. She was prepared for that. After all, she was on her way to see it happen.
She'd been steeling herself against Rachel Berry for years now, with varying methods and levels of success. A few more weeks didn't seem like a big deal.
Rachel Berry was always just a dream. Rachel Hudson was a fact.
Quinn Fabray doesn't argue with facts. She adjusts to them. She accepts and moves on. Picking up the pieces comes later. There's no breakdown, just a quiet, empty inevitability and a slow walk forward.
Which was ironic now, considering. A slow roll forwards, she quietly amended.
Needless to say, with all the painkillers in her system, she was surprised that it still hurt. Somewhere in her mouth, her teeth throbbed.
Logically, she knows teeth and hair have no sensitivity and are dead cells- just protein and enamel, connected by nerves. But since her nerve endings are dulled, she concludes her teeth must be throbbing and tries not to think too much about the metaphors involved.
It matches the sensation in her chest. Which following similar logic, is also numb, but in a completely different way.
Quinn knows it was the last nail in the coffin. Not for herself - being with Rachel was never even a real possibility she would have let herself fathom.
That ring was the end of the phenomenon that was Rachel Berry. It had been a slow progression, happening over time through a buildup of small moments. Like not noticing autumn is over until you blink, and every branch on every tree is suddenly naked and stark and the world is barren.
But Quinn noticed. Because the closer Quinn came to leaving Lima, the farther Rachel seemed to get. It was backwards. It was wrong. It wasn't supposed to happen like that.
Quinn accepted her fate long ago, she told Rachel as much that day at the piano. There never was another life for her. And now that it was within her grasp…
The last few weeks seemed more like a dream than anything. Things were going so well and Quinn felt like she could breathe.
That relief, even if it was just for a moment, ruined it. So of course if was only a matter of time before everything went to hell. Because after deciding to swallow everything down one last time - because Rachel was getting married and she was tired of being spiteful - she got hit by a truck.
Nothing good happens without consequence.
Except, for Quinn Fabray, consequence has nothing to do with good, and she was just Icarus, flying closerclosercloser to the sun.
She burnt up.
Her hands stung. Constantly. They were rubbed raw, even if she could only go up and down the hospital corridors. After a week in the bed she was frustrated, by the second, she couldn't keep still. By the third, if she didn't start moving (even if it would only be her arms), she would have lost it. She needed to feel her lungs burning. Something needed to feel normal.
Calluses were supposed to form. But if Quinn had learned anything about hardening parts of herself over time, it's that it takes too long and by then, the damage is usually already done.
Upon her return home, navigating through a newly placed ramp in the garage, Artie gave her a pair of gloves and a promise of wheelie lessons (to be redeemed at a time of her choosing).
She stared at the package and managed to blink without crying. He was still sitting there though, and since she didn't trust herself to speak without screaming, gave him a soft kiss on the check instead. He blushed and warned her she might not be so nice when faced with the steepest ramp in Lima. "I'll curse you to hell, but it won't be personal," she assured him.
The gloves stayed unopened on top of her dresser. As much as her hands hurt, she didn't want them to feel better. The pain focused her. She didn't want to have to get used to it because as long as she looks down and sees her legs, she'll remember splitting them in the air and dancing, and will probably never get used to it.
So she won't. She'll accept it, adjust, and move on. A slow roll forwards.
Contrary to popular belief, there's no bedroom on the first floor of her house.
Which meant the only option was to install a rather expensive stairlift to get Quinn upstairs. It was mortifying and embarrassing- like she was geriatric- a permanent fixture to blatantly remind her of the uselessness of her body. How easily she took things for granted before, like something as frustratingly simple as going to her room.
She couldn't even use it herself yet, too weak to hoist herself from the wheelchair to the seat. She tried to do it once without her mother, but ended up slipping and cracking her lip on the bottom step.
A bowl dropped in the kitchen and Judy had run in half a second later, shoes clacking on the floor. She scrambled to find Quinn crumpled in a heap at the base of the steps. Immediately she bent down, but at the barest touch on her shoulder, Quinn lashed out.
"Don't touch me," she hissed, because the anger was comforting in its presence. She knew this feeling; for the longest time it was all she had.
But when she saw her mother recoil in something akin to fear, like Quinn was some sort of feral creature, the rage evaporated. Left in its place was a familiar deflated, weary ache. A tiring misery that combined with the anger, had allowed her to endure in the past.
But there was a compassion, this time, that warmed instead of burned. She decided to give into it, because she was tired of feeling so cold and so empty all the time. There wasn't anything left. She and her mother may be strangers but they couldn't be estranged forever. Not now.
"I'm sorry," Quinn'd whispered, because that was all the strength she had.
Visitors came almost immediately. At the hospital, everyone from glee came together, it dulled the awkwardness of individual visits. It's easy for a group to smile pityingly, when the burden of conversation is shared and no one's counting on just you to make things feel better. Even if only for a few minutes.
Once she went home though, things were much more intimate. People came in chunks. Some people didn't show up at all. And some people showed up but were never really there.
"It's like Up," Brittany'd said brightly, upon looking at the chairlift. "You're like Mr. Fredricksen."
Santana snorted. "That must make Berry the little Japanese toddler. Except he had better social skills. And was useful."
If Santana knew her words twisted deeply, she didn't show it.
Rachel came with Finn, Blaine, and Kurt. She showed up with Brittany and Santana. With Tina and Mercedes. But she never came on her own. If Quinn were honest with herself, it was a relief. Parts of her were numb and aching, and it had everything and nothing to do with Rachel Berry. She didn't have the strength or energy to deal with it all. There's only so much a girl can handle.
So she chose to ignore the way her heart thudded dully at the fake smile plastered atop Rachel's clouded eyes when she stood with Brittany and Santana, holding a fruit basket.
At Santana's words, Rachel simply ducked her head without retort.
"Santana…" she said wearily. "Enough." Everything seemed so small and petty at this point, she just didn't care anymore.
"Don't worry, Quinn. Mr. Fredricksen still saw the world and had big adventures. It doesn't matter if you can't walk. You can fly, just like he did."
Brittany stole the air and words out of her lungs and she froze, unable to speak. What would she even even say to something like that?
After a moment, Santana cleared her throat and said "Britt, that has to be the most nauseatingly sweet thing you've ever said. I think I just got a cavity. Q, I'll just tack a dentist visit onto your medical bills, ok? At this point, it'll barely make a dent. Then we'll be even."
Quinn choked out a laugh through the lump in her throat, grateful for the out Santana gave them. "Took you long enough to cash in on that. The boob job was almost two years ago, I thought you were going to hold that over me forever."
"It'd seem kind of tacky, now. Whatever, I'm doing that leaf thing. It's a lot harder to call in favors when we're living in different states, anyways. This is mostly purely selfish."
"Mostly?"
"Yeah, the rest is pity for your gimpy ass."
Rachel looks horrified at their exchange. Quinn grins genuinely for the first time since her life flipped upside-down two times along the highway. Some things never change.
"You keep pitying my gimpy ass, I'll pants you in the hallway. Don't think I won't."